Of Serendipity and Cigarettes
by Polished Sterling
Summary: Witness to the assasination of her master, Tsuka Tokio becomes involved in the search for the corrupt officials that he worked for. SaitoTokio fic, from their meeting probably until the beginning or middle of the Jinchuu arc. Ch. 4 up, miraculously.
1. A Sudden Reversal

**Disclaimer and A/N: **None of the Rurouni Kenshin characters belong to me. Tokio as she appears in this fic, however, does. I know that she was a real person, but this is not Tokio as she was, it's Tokio as I imagined her before I knew she was real. So I suppose it's AU.

In any case, I promise not to make Saito gooey. He's probably one of my favorite characters--I have a thing for well-executed antiheroes--and as such I'll do my best to stay true to him. If you've any ideas/suggestions for keeping him in character, or if you think I'm taking him out of it, please let me know. Also, I'm using Japanese suffixes and name ordering (last name first). Oh! Last thing. This is based on the manga.

That's wordy. Sorry.

T+ for some sexual references and blooood.

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She was eighteen when her master died. Eighteen, and her master was by no means the first man she'd seen killed. She'd come the way she always did, to service him after his evening cigar. Instead, she found a swordsman grinding the expensive import out into the bloody sitting room carpet. Her dear master had lost his head completely.

Tokio stopped in the doorway and stared at the man she was sure would kill her. "You made a mess," she said.

His sword dripped onto the back of her master's favorite dress jacket. She was thankful she wouldn't be made to clean that stain, at least. The feral look the assassin gave her sent goose bumps spiraling chilly down her back, but she didn't move.

"I would say you helped me, but now his family will kill me. They'll say I did this, or that I should have stopped it."

Tokio was a pretty young woman. Her black hair was tied back in a loose bun; her long neck and pale skin were emphasized by the black, lily-patterned kimono she wore. Her eyes were brown, at the moment unreadable. She fell automatically into her faux self, the stiff cover that was gradually taking her over. Tokio made herself go numb and stared straight into the yellowish-green eyes of a man in police uniform. Loose black hair dangled into his face.

"If I die here, at least, they won't think I did it."

"So willing to die?" His voice sounded almost as predatory as his eyes looked.

"It will keep others out of trouble when this comes apart. Why not?"

He flicked the excess blood from his sword and pulled a cloth from his jacket to wipe it clean. "What is your name, little woman?"

"Tsuka. Tsuka Tokio. What's your name, police man?"

"Huh." He stepped away from the body and came toward her. He hadn't yet sheathed his sword. She stepped forward, struggling against her stiff leg. The strike would be easier if she was away from the door.

"It is in your best interest not to know."

When he struck, it was like a snake. A snap of light along the length of his sword before the hilt struck the side of her head. Tokio's face hit the maroon carpet and a blossom of blood trailed across her forehead to the floor.

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Sound and a confusion of movement and light stirred Tokio. Her cheek stung from a slap—she twitched as another one opened her eyes. Her master's wife stood over her, bug-eyed and furious.

"You…! How could you let this happen? How did it happen? Who did it? Tell me now, you useless whore!" She raised her hand to slap Tokio again and a white-gloved hand gripped her wrist.

"I believe I will take over the questioning, madam." The voice was familiar, but it had an edge of obsequiousness that didn't sound natural. Tokio turned and looked straight into a pair of narrow, yellow-green eyes. The assassin was still in a police uniform, one without blood stains. His smile was as narrow as his eyes. The insincere edge dropped out of his voice. "And your name would be…?"

"Tsuka Tokio." She stared straight at him, trying to make herself cold against the shock. He would accuse her, kill her—no wonder he hadn't killed her last night. This was more convenient for him. He had a scapegoat, now.

"Tsuka-san." He held out a hand. She hesitated before letting him help her to her feet. As soon as the room stopped spinning, she stepped away. She glanced at her master's body and back at the wolf-man. It was more gruesome than it looked in the dim light from last night.

"Tsuka-san, what can you tell me about this incident? Did you see the intruder?"

"I saw very little." She leveled a cool look at him that she hoped said, _smug, aren't you? _"I asked his name, but he knocked me out."

"His face…?"

"I couldn't tell much about him. But from what I saw…" She paused and flicked a bit of hair away from her face. "…he was very ugly."

He raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. The side of his mouth twitched upwards briefly before he turned to her master's wife. He bowed, and the sly edge was back in his voice, sliding along his words like blood along a sword.

"I think we should take custody of Tsuka-san until we can fully investigate this situation, madam. The assassin may return to eliminate her as a witness to his actions."

"But…" The squat woman hesitated, glaring at Tokio past the police man. Tokio noticed for the first time that, unlike the others, he carried a katana at his waist. "We… she is… needed…"

There was murder in the woman's eyes. Tokio felt a twitch of fear and shoved it aside. Death by a swordsman's blade or the indignity of a beating…

"I'm afraid I must insist." The policeman smiled at her master's wife and the woman gritted her teeth.

"Fine. Take the whore. But she belongs here, when this is all finished, understand…"

She glared at the policeman until he took the hint.

"Ah. I am Fujita Goro. We will bring Tsuka-san back when we feel it is safe for her, and when we no longer need her input."

He looked over his shoulder at Tokio. Her hands clenched against the cloth of her kimono.

"If you will follow me, Tsuka-san."

She followed.

He said nothing to her for most of the carriage ride to the police station. She watched him every second, waiting for some hint, some cue as to his motives. Finally he turned away from the window.

"Ugly, hmm?"

Tokio blinked.

He pulled a pack of imported cigarettes from his pocket and tapped one out against his palm.

"I find it interesting that you had the perfect opportunity to accuse me and you didn't take it."

"I find it interesting that a murderer would go investigate his own crime. Aren't you afraid of giving _yourself _away?"

He lit the cigarette and took a long, slow pull. Tokio made a face at the acrid mist that curled out of his mouth.

"I have no fear of that. You didn't answer my question, little limping woman."

She twitched, a flicker of something familiar and long-buried quivering just under her control. She couldn't tell, she didn't know what… Tokio shook her head to clear it. "You are very rude, commenting on something like that."

"You're good at masking it, but if you have to walk any sort of distance… It must have been quite an accident, to leave you with such a pronounced handicap."

Only a flash before it died. _Rage. _That's what it was. "You so lightly assume it was an accident."

Fujito Goro sighed out another stream of smoke. "My question?"

"I don't know." She looked straight at him and wondered why she hadn't said anything. Why? Why? Something else was there, something else… She tried to think of how she felt, watching her master's clothes slicked heavy by the blood leaking from his own body. Tried to remember what she'd thought, what she'd felt, when she realized she would never have to spread her legs for him again.

"I don't know," she said.

"Ah. I see. What was that you said last night… Your death would keep others out of trouble, was it?" He tilted his head.

Tokio watched the trail of smoke drifting from the cigarette between his fingers. She felt the crust of blood against her scalp and wished for a bath. The rythm of the carriage jolted against her. She listened to the swing and jingle of the carriage and the reins and shuddering of sound-feeling that was the horses hooves against Kyoto's streets. He flicked ash from the cigarette and onto the seat cushion.

"Why you care about such details is beyond me," she said.

"Call me a curious man." He took another pull on the cigarette and the carriage slowed and finally lurched to a stop. As soon as someone outside opened the door, Tokio stood and stepped down. She stumbled a little, but Fujita didn't move to help her. She straightened and walked toward the front of the three-story, western-style building that was the police headquarters.

She made the first few steps, but then, just as he said, her leg caught her up. She half-dragged it past the gate, gritting her teeth behind tightly closed lips. Fujita walked beside her, keeping an easy pace. He faced straight ahead, smoking, smoking, smoking away, until they reached the front door. He bowed her inside.

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	2. Questionable Safety

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin and all related characters belong to Watsuki, not me. Tokio's character in this does belong to me, however, blah blah blah.

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The room Fujita took her to was small and unadorned. The walls were whitewashed, and an empty table surrounded by chairs sat in the middle. There were no windows. It was lit by expensive electric lights and smelled stuffy. The lights hummed quietly.

"Please take a seat."

Tokio sat, but only because her leg was starting to throb. She kept her chin up and glared at Fujita, refusing to let him see she was in pain. He must have been able to tell anyway. He huffed out another cloud of cigarette smoke and opened the door again. Tokio coughed.

"Michio."

A junior policeman stumbled inside and saluted. "Fujita-sama!"

"Bring us something to drink, and something warm for the woman's leg."

As soon as he shut the door, Tokio gave up on pretending and rubbed the sore muscle gently. "That was _nice _of you."

"I can't have you distracted while we talk." He leaned against the wall again. "How much do you know about your master?"

Tokio focused on rubbing the tense muscle while she thought about it. "You know more about him then I do to be killing him, I'm sure."

"That wasn't the question. You dodge very eloquently. A learned skill?"

She ignored him.

"He was siphoning donated money out of accounts meant for the refurbishment of areas devastated during the Bakumatsu. Do you know what that means?"

Tokio felt insulted despite herself. "Yes, I do."

"Good. What we don't know is what he was using it for."

"His fancy house and his imported cigars aren't enough?"

"We've been over his finances. Everything he owns, he owns legitimately. The money goes from the accounts to him and then disappears."

The door opened again. Michio walked in with a tray, his face screwed up in concentration. Its contents jittered and jiggled. The tea cups sloshed water over their sides, despite his best efforts to prevent it. Tokio took pity on him and stood up to take the tray. Fujita shut the door as Tokio put the tray down and sorted out the mess Michio had made of the refreshments. There was a bowl of warm water, too, and a hot cloth. Tokio made sure to keep her back to Fujita as she shifted her kimono enough to press the hot cloth to her leg.

Fujita took another draft of his cigarette, dropped it and ground it out under his heel. "I ask again, how much do you know about your master? Has he ever had gatherings which you were _not _to attend?"

Tokio flushed at the implication, but she couldn't exactly say with pride that her master kept her to himself. "If he's having secret meetings somewhere then I don't know about them."

Fujita tapped out another cigarette and rolled it between his fingers. "Have you ever heard him say things you found strange? Talked about things that seemed out of place? Things that made no sense?"

Tokio frowned at her kimono, trying to think, trying to remember. Most of what he said she ignored. "Did you kill him because he was a thief? Is that the only reason?"

"He'd stolen enough to buy a small fleet. Whoever he's giving the money to needed to be cut off."

"But you've no proof that he's giving it to anyone. What if he's just hiding it?"

She looked up at him. He look he gave her was frigid.

"You do have proof."

He tucked the cigarette between his lips and pulled out a small box of matches. "I'm a bit surprised that he would choose someone like you for your… position. Granted, you're pretty enough." He scraped the match along the box's side once, twice, three times before it finally caught. He tossed it aside as soon as the cigarette began to glow. "But your tongue would take away the appeal for any sensible man. Satisfy my curiosity. Was it because he knew you couldn't run? It would fit the person I've researched, something like that."

She felt a strange something—a sudden blaze, a flash of anger. She swung to slap him and he caught her wrist. He was smiling again. She tried to jerk away and he held her still.

"So, you can get angry. If all that was left of you was that shell you showed back at the mansion, I would say you really were better off dead."

She twisted and he let her go, releasing her with a shrug as though to say, "really, so moody." She felt off-balance for the first time in years. She felt surprised and confused and hesitant and _angry _that this damn man could make her stagger through so many emotions at once.

"Bastard."

He knocked twice on the closed door. It snapped open and Michio stumbled in.

"Fujita-sama!"

"Tsuka-san. Until this matter concludes, you will stay here. There are rooms on the upper levels—Michio will take you to one of them. Michio." He turned to his awe-struck subordinate. "Find the woman some spare clothing."

"Sir!" Michio saluted again and bowed to Tokio. "If you'll follow me."

He vanished down the hall without waiting for an answer. She started to follow, then hesitated. Tokio looked over her shoulder at the wolf-man. He was smirking at her still.

"Why didn't you finish me?"

"What would be the point of killing an unarmed, limping woman? You're as much in my power here as you would be anywhere else."

Again a snap of anger. "Bastard," she said. He tilted his head in a bow. Tokio gritted her teeth and left.

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"Damnit! Another one of our men, _another, _and we're no closer to the end of this than we were six months ago."

"At least this time there was a witness."

The room was dim. Lamps chased shadows into the corners and up against the roof, but did no more than that. There was a table in the center of the room, with a map of Japan spread across it. A little red-topped needle marked the latest death. There were six men present. There should have been seven.

"He's getting too damn close. If this keeps up, we'll be finished before we've really had a chance to begin. We're losing our connections. We have to find out who's doing this _now_."

"We need an excuse to see the girl they've taken in."

"Us? Ha!"

"Patience." The speaker rested his hands against the table, tracing the lines of color-coded pins with one finger. He was easily the youngest person present. "There is no evidence that the police even know our true purpose. They believe they're still dealing with a few corrupt officials and an opium ring." He brushed back his dark hair and smiled. The expression spread across his face like a slow frost, glittering savagely in his dark eyes.

"They will see their mistake, my friends. Make sure our man inside is watching this witness girl. We will wait for our chance. We can afford to be cautious. We can afford to be patient. We can afford to hide for a while."

He tugged the red pin free and pricked his thumb with it. A bead of blood rose against his skin. He smeared a rusty X through the city of Tokyo. "Patience and persistence, my friends."

He laughed.

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	3. Appropriate Reading

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters in Rurouni Kenshin belong to me, etcetera etcetera. All original characters are mine, blah blah.

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Tokio's room was extremely depressing. It was as Spartan as the room where Saito had questioned her; there was a bed with white sheets, a dresser with three empty drawers, and a small table with two chairs. The walls were white-washed and a lamp hung from the ceiling.

Tokio sat on the bed in the undyed yukata the police department had supplied for her. She felt almost like a prisoner herself; she was free to leave the room, but not the building. It was almost worse being closed up and ignored than being in the same room with that man. She hadn't seen him for almost three days. His nervous subordinate tended to her—sweet though he was, conversation seemed to be a bit beyond him.

"_Guh,_" Tokio growled. She flopped backwards onto the bed. She needed something—_anything—_to do.

"Damn them all," she muttered.

"That's rude."

She snapped upright. Fujita Goro leaned against the doorframe. "You! You…"

"Articulate." He stepped inside and closed the door.

"This is a bedroom! You can't be in _my _bedroom with the door closed."

"Your honor is questionable already—the addition of another smudge to the coal won't make a difference. What I have to say can't be said with the door open."

She clenched her fists. "No. No, you want to talk to me, I get to ask you something first."

He shrugged. "Fine. Ask away. You get no guarantee of an answer, naturally."

Naturally. Tokio made a face at the blank yukata. "Why are you doing this?"

"'This'?"

"Torturing me like this! Keeping me in this _pen _of a building, like a… Like a chicken! You took me into custody to protect me from you! If _you _aren't going to kill me, then what's the point of my staying here?"

He tapped a cigarette into his palm. "Think about it."

"That's not an answer."

"Socrates," he said.

"What?"

"Think about it."

"What does that—" She trailed off and thought about it. "The people who stood behind my master. The people he was working for. They're still out there. Wait—they know about me?"

"We suspect as much."

"How?"

Fujita shrugged.

"You are the most obnoxiously superior _thing _I've ever met."

"Fancy words for someone peasant-born."

"I'm low-born, not ignorant." Tokio snapped. "Which reminds me—you need to bring me a book."

"Do I?"

"You do," she said. She pinched the cloth of the yukata between her fingers. "If they know that I'm here, and they care enough that you had to_ tell_ me they know, then… they know that I saw you. They'll want to talk to me, to get to me."

Fujita let out a huff of smoke. Tokio stood up, snatched his cigarette and ground it out under her sandal. "This is _my _room, and you won't smoke in it."

She faced the wall. "They want me, and you want them. You have me—you're going to use me as bait. The _least _you can do is get me a good book."

She sagged back onto the bed. "Where are you going to put me? My master's house?"

"No."

"Why not? If you're going to use me as bait to lure those men to you… If you're going to do that, wouldn't it be better for me to be out there and exposed?"

"Maybe so. But I told that woman I would return you to her when we felt it was safe for you. That house will never be a safe place."

"Y…ou…" Prepared for an argument, his apparent concern took the wind from her confrontational sails.

He pulled out his cigarettes. "I enjoy the thought of her waiting for a chance to whip you and knowing privately that she never will. Her frustration must be amusing."

Tokio didn't dignify that with an answer. She jerked the door open, pointed him out, and slammed it as soon as he was across the threshold.

"Don't forget my book!" she shouted at the paneling.

Tokio turned to glare at the room. One of the drawers of the dresser had slid open when she slammed the door. The lamp swung from its chain, squeaking.

"Oh, be quiet!"

Tokio could have sworn she heard someone outside laughing.

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"What do you think, Saito? Can she do it?"

Saito rolled a cigarette between two fingers. A delicate curl of smoke twisted from its glowing tip. He shrugged. "She is rude, hot-tempered, stubborn, and marginally intelligent." He smirked. "She speaks her mind without hesitation—not a good thing in this situation."

The police chief sighed. "So, that's a no."

"No, it's a yes. She's rude, stubborn, and loud-mouthed—she's also good at hiding it. She looked perfectly composed when I was going to kill her."

"I still don't understand why you—"

"I told you. She was perfectly composed. People who are composed in that situation are one of two things. Insane, or more practical than they are emotional. I've come to the conclusion that she's not quite insane. So…"

"So you decided using her was better than killing her."

Saito shrugged.

"Fine. Make the arrangements."

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That day, when Tokio came back from her walk around the building, she found a book on her bedroom table. _The Art of War._ She glared at it, dumped it in an empty drawer and slammed the drawer shut.

The drawer wouldn't stay closed. Every time she banged it shut, it would glide open as soon as she turned her back. She sat on her bed for almost an hour, the drawer gaping at her like a goldfish.

"Guh," Tokio said. She stalked across the room and took the book out.

"_The Art of War, _is it?" She flopped onto the bed and opened it up. "How about you show me how to kill him?"

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	4. Baiting the Line

Disclaimer: Watsuki owns Rurouni Kenshin. The only things I stake a claim to are the OCs.

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Silence thick as paste filled the carriage as it rattled its way down the streets of Tokyo. The streets were busy, despite the early hour, and the general cheerfulness of everyone outside honed the edge of Tokio's already sharp temper. She turned away from the sight of doors sliding open and shops welcoming in their first customers to glare at Fujita. He sat across from her, twiddling an ever-present cigarette between his fingers, implacable and aggravating.

"I don't see why it has to be yours," she said. It came out as a sullen growl which she hated almost as much as Fujita Goro and his damn cigarettes.

"It makes sense. And it's less suspicious than the police pushing you out on the street by yourself. You're still the key to this case, for us and for them, and your protection is still a concern, even if we can't afford to house you."

"So that's the rumor you're drooling around."

"Yes. Money is always a bureaucratic concern. You said yourself, we can't hold you prisoner forever. And a young woman like you living in a police barracks will be a story all by itself."

Tokio bit the inside of her cheek to keep from sniping a reply. It was always there between them. The insult of her past, his leverage of humiliation. She hated it. She was the bitch at the end of his leash, and he never seemed to resist a casual tug. Two and a half weeks in his relatively distant and even rarely-present company, and it already felt like a lifetime. And now, now…

"We've arrived."

He didn't wait for her. When did he ever act the gentleman? He let himself out of the carriage and let her do the same. She stumbled on the bottom step and almost swore. He would give her that look. That narrowed eyed not-smile that said he'd found another chink in her armor. But he hadn't seen, or if he did he didn't care. He was busy ordering the driver to carry her small bag into the residential inn. His home. Her new workplace.

She couldn't even bring herself to be grateful. She almost longed for her old home, even the ratty leather whip of her mistress, the one that was too worn down to be useful against the horses. She had retreat there, a mask of indifference to hide behind. Fujita Goro allowed no room for retreat.

Tokio stopped to let the driver by and to take in her new home. There was a high wall around the building. The gateway stood open, and the wood around the opening was scorched. Tokio bet she would find the sliding gate in the same condition. The small, dusty courtyard led to a sprawling one-story building of rich wood and dark tile. Some of the tiles around the edge of the roof were missing; the porch was scuffed and in need of a polish. Another walled area to the left indicated a garden behind the house. She wondered what kind of shape it was in.

"What are you waiting for? The lady of the house doesn't issue invitations, and she doesn't like people who are slow."

_Then she's going to hate me,_ Tokio thought. She closed her eyes, shutting out the vision of the war-brushed inn.

"Come."

Tokio squeezed her hands into fists and did, once again, as she was told.

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"Girl! What be taking so long? Water don't boil itself, and don't boil at _all_ if you be too weak to even fetch it."

"I'm not weak," Tokio muttered. She balanced the bucket against her good side and limped into the kitchen. Water sloshed over the brim like a mocking laugh and splattered against the uniform of her faded black kimono. The other two girls in the kitchen, dressed as she was, avoided her eyes.

"Watch it, girl! I swear it, if I didn't be needing all the hands the whore houses have to cough up, I would throw you out on your ear."

"Is that the only thing that's keeping me here?" Tokio said, a little louder. Her cheeks were hot with an afternoon of work and anger.

The landlady whipped away from the fish she was slicing to glare at her. The landlady hated being saddled with Tokio as much as Tokio hated being dropped in her lap. The other girls—Tokio still couldn't remember their names, even after two days of being introduced—froze. One had a spoon of miso broth half way to her lips.

"As soon as that twig-built swagger of a man tells me he be done with you, you be gone, and may Kami-sama make't soon. Not enough just to got _you—_also have to give two good rooms to _police _who don't be paying even half _price._"

"Wait, what?" Tokio set the bucket down on the counter with a thump. "What police? When?"

The landlady flashed a thin slice of a smile. "Not serving girl business. Go fetch some wood and stoke up the fire. Yuri! Don't be letting that rice burn, idiot girl!"

Tokio stalked outside, ignoring the crackling twinges of pain in her leg as best she could. She bypassed the wood pile and headed straight for the garden. It was the landlady's prize, the only unblemished part of this place, and Fujita's sanctuary whenever he was at the inn. Which, to Tokio's surprise, wasn't as often as she thought it would be.

_He has other investigations, after all. Who would try to kill me with that mad woman looming over my shoulder, anyway?_

"Fujita!" She shouted, disregarding propriety and not caring who noticed. "Fujita! Where are you?"

He emerged from the hallway to the rooms as she rounded the corner of the porch into the enclosed garden. "Who's coming? That woman said she had to give two rooms up to police. Who's coming? Why?" The bamboo fountain clunked steadily in the background.

"Mizuki-san's mouth has never been under her complete control," he said, as though that was an answer. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, but she didn't like the look her gave her one bit. After a moment he sighed. Out came the cigarettes. "Come with me."

She dropped her shoes beside the porch and went. She could hear the landlady shouting several rooms over. Probably for her, but she didn't care. Fujita slid open one of the nondescript doors along the hall and motioned for her to enter.

His room wasn't at all what she was expecting. It wasn't adorned with skulls or the hair of his victims or the dozen other more horrible imaginings her mind had run away with. It was disappointingly barren. Uniforms hung in the closet. She paused to wonder if he ever wore anything else. His bed things were folded neatly in the corner, and a shoji screen inked in a bamboo pattern shielded a floor desk from the rest of the room. It was covered in paper and, to Tokio's suddenly breathless excitement, a photograph sat on top.

She didn't wait for an invitation. She limped across the room and picked it up. It was grainy, the people's faces reduced to thumb-sized gray and black imprints on the white gloss of photo paper. It was a picture of a group of policemen, stoic frowns set firmly in place. Fujita loomed behind her and she flinched internally, preparing for the insulting drawl of a reprimand. Instead, he tapped the face of a young, handsome man whose hat was skewed slightly crooked.

"Kobayashi Hideki. Second son of a peasant family. He was raised as the companion of a nobleman's son. Both families were massacred in the Bakumatsu, leaving him penniless and homeless at sixteen. Now twenty two. He joined out ranks shortly after their deaths, and hasn't advanced much, despite his zealous use of force."

Tokio frowned. Fujita tapped another face, this one a heavy drinker. Even in the fuzz of the photograph, she could see the blotches of old drunk color spidering across his face.

"Etsuko Osamu, an eleven year veteran and rank-and-file officer. Accidentally saved the police chief's life once—the only reason he is still employed. A drunk and a gambler. He gambled his family into servitude before the Bakumatsu. Hasn't seen them since, and doesn't seem to care."

He paused to tap out and light a cigarette. The landlady didn't seem to mind him smoking, as long as her gave her a cigarette or two from his packets.

"They are the two volunteers we chose to act as your bodyguards when I am not present. There were not a lot of choices available. Good men have been killed by their involvement in this case."

"By you?" Tokio said. It was only half venom. Most of her attention was still fixed on the photograph.

"Not by me." He motioned to the photo again. "One of them is greedy and the other is ambitious. In this case it amounts to the same thing."

"If they're so terrible, why did you choose them? There had to be _some _better ones on the list, didn't there?" Tokio ran her fingers gently over the silk surface of the photograph.

"You're right. There were better. And if that were the only consideration, I would have picked them instead." He took a long drag and smiled as sharp as a wolf's front teeth. "I didn't choose them because--of our short list of possibilities--the two in the photo seem the most likely to try and steal you away."

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A/N: So, I've quite given up on predicting when I'll have chapters up. I do promise that they will keep coming—after all, it's just starting to get interesting. I swear I won't abandon this story. My course load is (to all intents and purposes) a little lighter this semester, _but, _in place of classes, I'm going to start working on a novel-length project of my own. So wish me luck.

And since I can't remember which reviewers I've replied to and which I haven't at this point, I'd just like to say a general thanks to y'all for your encouragement. And thanks especially to Buffalocatz, who prompted me (kindly) to get up off my ass and working again.

EDIT: And, once again, I miss something in the proofread. Reposted.


	5. Apology

Okay, so, um... I suck. I want to give y'all something good, for all your patience, but with final projects bearing down on me I don't really have time to write something good. In compensation, (meager, meager compensation, as I know you guys want more Saito/Tokio story and not this), I can put up a link to a draft of an original piece that I'm working on for my Short Fiction class, if you're interested.

Either way, again, I'm very sorry. I'll do my best, but it's probably going to be a while before I can get the next chapter up.


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